"What a long, strange trip it's been!" ~ Grateful Dead
On Sunday, May 5, five canoes embarked from the public access at the west end of Moose Lake at noon. This particular Moose Lake is near the line between Beltrami and Clearwater Counties. The lake is about a mile long and was ice-free, which was a great relief for the paddlers because that can't be said of many lakes in the region right now. Our plan was to paddle nearly the full length of the Little Mississippi River and then paddle up Grant Creek.
The cruise started out very pleasantly. The sun was shining. The temperature was comfortable - probably above 50, moving toward 60. The wind was at our backs. I did have a premonition, though. We seemed to be moving rather slowly. We had a 13-mile trip ahead of us, which is not a leisure cruise if you plan to finish before dark. I gently reminded people that we needed to be a bit diligent.
We saw a couple of white creatures far away at the eastern end of the lake - pelicans or swans? They were trumpeter swans. They took off and flew over us, then came back over us again, trumpeting. They really do sound like trumpets. We saw them again, four times - or we saw four pairs - it's hard to say. We saw a lot of waterfowl throughout the trip, including many Canada geese, common mergansers, wood ducks and mallards. Muskrats and porcupines were among the mammals we saw. Interesting vegetation included skunk cabbage, Symplocarpus foetidus. According to a Forest Service website, "It is the first native wildflower to bloom and generally does so starting in February (somewhere!). The first part of this unique wildflower to emerge from the below-surface rhizome is the spathe (hood) that is color combination of browns, greens, and purples. The ability of the spathe to quickly emerge in late winter is because the respiration of the plant produces heat which protects the developing flowers from freezing and dying. The spathe houses the developing spadix which is covered with numerous, small, tightly-packed yellow flowers that are hermaphroditic, thus not relying on nearby plants for cross pollination. The spathe also assists in holding in the flower’s heat so as to vaporize the scent that then attracts pollinating insects especially flies. Additionally, the scent deters potential predators. The seeds develop within the spadix and when ripe fall into the mucky substrate. The seeds are then dispersed by birds and small mammals or by floods. The leaves emerge after flowering. Leaves are large, 1 – 2 feet long, broad at the base and being ovate to cordate and heavily ribbed." A very interesting plant!
The first segment of the trip took us from the Moose Lake landing to Beltrami County Road 5. The Headwaters Canoe Club has traveled this route twice before. It wanders through a narrow valley that is lined with pine forests: jack pine, red pine and white pine, plus white spruce and a few associated hardwood tree species. The cured grasses that line the river provide a nice color contrast with the pines. There is one spot in this segment where we have had to portage on past trips, but due to the high water, some of us were able to scoot over the fallen trees. We were also able to scoot over the few beaver dams we encountered through the afternoon.
I hadn't paddled downstream from County Road 5, before. I had assumed that it was swampy. I was wrong. It was maybe a bit more swampy than the upper stretches, but there were frequent patches of pines and high banks. It was nearly as scenic as the first segment.
Some of our troop started to tire as we got into this second segment. Thirteen miles is a long paddle. Think about a 13-mile walk or a 13-mile run. It can be hard. We came to another tree that had fallen across the river. One paddler started cutting the limbs off of it with a pruning saw to allow passage. Several paddlers decided to portage around the obstacle. One paddler capsized while getting out of the canoe. Others offered clothing from their dry-bags. The sawyer got cut on the hand. Was this becoming a comedy of errors or a tragedy?
As we neared Rice (Mahnomen) Lake, we started watching for the confluence of Grant Creek. We expected Grant to be about the same size as the Little Mississippi, but we also expected that it could be disguised by marsh. One of us would paddle into any nook that looked like it could be a creek. Sometimes, we had to go quite a distance before we satisfied ourselves that we were in an oxbow of the Little Mississippi or anything other than Grant Creek.
The weather was changing, and not for the better. Clouds had moved in. The wind was picking up and it had changed to an unfavorable direction. The temperature was dropping. The emotions within the group ran the gamut of worry, disappointment, doubt, apprehension, fatigue, maybe even fear. We started forming contingency plans. Should we cross Rice Lake and paddle down the Mississippi to Iron Bridge Landing through the labyrinth where canoeists routinely get lost? Should we cross Rice Lake and paddle up the Mississippi to Pine Point Landing and walk two miles to the highway to hitchhike back to the vehicles?
We felt quite sure we had entered Rice Lake, but it was marshy and we couldn't be absolutely certain. We should have reached the confluence before we reached the lake, according to the map, but rivers change all the time, especially in marshes. We saw a couple of log houses in the pines on the east shore. Some paddlers wanted to go to them to seek help. I tried one more suspicious nook. As I got near to what-had-looked-to-be the end of it, the open water turned and kept going. This happened several times. For a moment, I'd be sure I had found Grant Creek, then I'd be unsure. I vowed that after I passed the next tall patch of Phragmites grass, if I still felt like I was on a creek, I'd call out for the others to follow. I passed that point. It definitely looked like a creek.
I hooted. I hooted some more. I did my very best owl hoot. Nobody returned my calls. I indulged in an act of desperation. I called one of the other paddlers on my cell phone. I learned that two paddlers were taking a canoe to the log houses. The others would follow me up the creek.
Now we were in a real marsh. It was flat and open. Beyond the marsh grass, we could see alders and tamaracks, far off from the creek. The chill wind blew in our faces. The current wasn't very strong, but the water was so shallow, we often could not dip a full paddle to get a good purchase. Sometimes the route was hard to find. We investigated dead ends. We went through tight spots where you just throw the paddle down in the bottom of the canoe and grab cattails to pull yourself through.
Gradually, we made progress toward the aspens and balsam fir that indicated the end of the marsh and our destination. The paddler in the first canoe announced that he saw a power line! Now came the toughest pull of the day. The current was getting stronger and so was the wind. We could see the cars at the take-out, but our progress was so slow! Of course, we made it and just about had canoes loaded when the paddlers that had bailed out drove up. They had been rescued by a family member. They reported having been treated very hospitably by the residents that they found in the log house. They were written down in the log book as the earliest spring rescue that had been recorded. Their hosts were a bit surprised that they had come down the Little Mississippi instead of the (other) Mississippi River. They predicted that it would be very late before the rest of us would finish our trip up Grant Creek. Well, it was after 6 o'clock! I think everyone had to agree that we had had a great adventure!
I saw a magpie on the drive home!
